


Office Rumors

by greysynonyms



Series: Detroit: Become Human Songfics [6]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, And maybe a little jealous, Androids, Bathroom Sex, Dirty Talk, Dpd, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Future, Gavin being an asshole, Hank-centered, If You Squint - Freeform, Inappropriate Behavior, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Not Canon Compliant, Police officers, Semi-Public Sex, The Connor/reader relationship is just barely hinted at, Unsafe Sex, Voyeurism, Workplace Relationship, Workplace Sex, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 22:34:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15180824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greysynonyms/pseuds/greysynonyms
Summary: Because Gavin Reed needs to learn to shut his mouth sometimes.





	Office Rumors

**Author's Note:**

> “Everybody wants to know if we fucked on the bathroom sink”

       You can still hear Gavin’s stupidly snide voice taunting you.

_        Are you seriously fucking that old man? What a fucking pervert. _

_        You’d be so much better off with someone like me, sweet-cheeks. _

_        How many hours does it take for him to get it up? _

       And then the rumors around the station start, because not only is Gavin Reed an obnoxious asshole, but he’s also a fucking loud-mouth. Everyone seems to shut up when Hank is around but when it’s just you you can constantly hear scandalous whispers and mutters surrounding your apparently-curious sex-life. You don’t really see what the big deal is--except of course the age difference and the fact that he’s technically your  _ boss _ , but, y’know, whatever--and you don’t really see why it matters if neither of you confirm or deny it. As long as you don’t acknowledge it at all it stays as a rumor (despite the fact that it’s  _ not _ ) and it can’t hurt either of you. So you actively ignore it for as long as you can; you ignore the whispers, the sideways looks, the looks of disappointment (fuck _ those  _ people), but the one thing you can’t ignore is Gavin Reed.

       It seems he’s constantly nearby, either talking loudly about you while he’s within earshot or standing beside your desk talking to you directly. You know he’s just trying to get under your skin, sometimes shushing the people he’s standing with when you walk by in a way that just screams ‘ _ ooh, we were talking about you, don’t you want to know what we were saying? _ ’One time he’s even waiting for you outside the bathroom, leaned up against the wall with that stupid grin on his face as if he has absolutely nothing better to do. 

       You’re so tired of it. So tired of him and his smug face and the way he seems to think that constantly badgering you about the same subject over and over and  _ over _ will ever get you to fess up about anything. It pisses you off that he’s actually succeeding in riling you up, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing it. 

_        Have you had your eyes checked recently? How can you possibly be sexually satisfied by someone like that? _

_        Honestly, even the plastic prick would be better, it’s just too bad he doesn’t have a plastic prick, am I right? _ (Jokes on him).

_        Is it just because you feel sorry for him? _

       And one day it’s just too much. It’s not anything in particular, not a certain comment or a certain smirk, it’s just  _ him _ and it’s overbearing. Your solution is rather simple; you’re exhausted, frustrated, desperate to shut Reed up--it almost seems like the inevitable solution. You’re honestly not sure how you didn’t think of it earlier. 

       The station is rather empty because it’s a weekend, but of course you and Connor and Hank are hard at work--because Captain Fowler is a demanding man, not because you really want to be working in a stiflingly hot police station on a beautiful summer evening. And, of course, where you are Reed follows. You’re mildly surprised to see him there at first, because you think that the AC must be broken with how hot it is inside the building, but then you remember who you’re dealing with and the surprise quickly fades into a level of annoyance you haven’t felt in a long time.

       It becomes abundantly clear soon enough that he doesn’t really have any pressing work he needs to be doing, no real reason to be in on the weekend, because he basically sticks to you like glue any time you step away from your work. He won’t shut his mouth for anything, not when you try to get him to sip coffee or eat breakfast with you, and not when you sigh and exasperatedly ask him to kindly knock it off. You try to give him the easy way out, you really do, you give him so many opportunities and he just won’t take any of them so you decide to finally put your plan into action. The next few times he approaches you you just smile at him and wait patiently for your moment, because you know it’s coming and you know it’s going to be so, so sweet. 

       It finally arrives about three hours into the evening--you follow Reed’s back with a near-predatory gaze as he makes his way towards the bathroom. 

       You lean back in your chair and stretch your arms high above your head, letting out a purposefully loud yawn to catch the lieutenant’s attention. 

       “You know we’re not even close to done with this report, right?” Hank asks you, eyebrow arched skeptically. “Don’t start thinking about naps yet.”

       You put on a mock frown, reach towards a spot on your back that you can’t quite reach. “I’m not, I’m not,” you roll your eyes. You make a frustrated noise in the back of your throat. “I have a sore spot on my back, I think the plastic on my bra-strap broke.” When Hank’s expression remains unfazed you give him your best puppy-dog eyes, “Please, can you help? It’s stabbing me every time I move wrong.” 

       “How in the hell am I supposed to help with that?” he scoffs.

       You shrug, feign a little wince just for the hell of it. “Wrapping a band-aid around it usually does the trick.” 

       “Do I look like a fuckin’ band-aid machine to you? Look, just go get one from the bathroom or something and then get your ass back here so we can get back to work.” He pulls at the collar of his shirt where a line of barely-visible sweat has formed. “I don’t wanna spend all fuckin’ weekend cooking in this hellhole.” 

       You frown for real this time before you get to your feet, reach out and grab Hank’s wrist to force him out of his chair. You tried to get him to take the hint by using the worst excuse known to man, but the man is like a fucking wall sometimes; you decide for a more direct approach instead. “I need your help,” you say pointedly, and you don’t miss the inquisitive look that Connor tosses your way. You’re not about to let anything ruin your revenge, not Jeffery Fowler’s demands, not Hank’s laziness, nothing.        

       Hank seems to catch your drift because then he’s standing without another word despite the puzzled look on his face. “What in the hell is your problem?” he asks lowly as you pull him quickly towards the bathroom. When you don’t answer right away he opens his mouth to ask again, because he’s becoming genuinely worried, but he doesn’t have a chance to get even a single word out before your hand plants itself in the center of his chest and shoves him through the door to the men’s restroom.

       Your eyes gleam mischievously as you watch him stumble backwards across the tile floor, his expression a lovely mix of confused and pissed off. Then you step right into his personal space, backing him up until his lower back hits the counter--you know Gavin is in the last stall, checked to make sure as soon as you walked in. Now the only goal is to keep Hank from realizing it. 

       Shouldn’t be too hard considering the second you press yourself against Hank’s front, hook a thigh up over his hip and grind against him in a way that leaves no room for question about your intentions, he makes this  _ sound _ low in his throat and reaches up to grab a tight fistful of your hair. “You could’ve just told me this was what you were after,” he says, breath hot against your face, and then he yanks you in for a kiss that has you momentarily forgetting your original intentions. The slide of his tongue against yours, the scratch of his beard against your face, the way his fist tightens in your hair in order to tilt your head to a better position--you can already feel yourself getting wet. 

       You pull back for breath, lean forward to trail a line of kisses down his neck, bite down over the cloth that covers his shoulder and grin when he inhales sharply.  “I couldn’t help it, you just look so fucking  _ good _ all the time.” 

       He laughs deeply, hooks his fingers under your knee and drags your leg higher on his hip. “Flattery will get you everywhere with me, sweetheart.” 

       You don’t let him see your wicked smirk--what a perfect, perfect opportunity he’s left you with. “I was thinking about last night,” you say against his neck, “about how it felt while I was on top of you.  _ Fuck _ , Hank, I’m still aching from it.” Not a lie, you’re still sore at the apex of your thighs from the stretch of having Hank’s body between them for so long but it’s a pleasant, welcome ache.

       Hank groans low, his hips thrusting against yours and you can feel through his pants that you’re having as much of an affect on him as he’s having on you. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?” 

       “Well we can’t have that,” you tease. You let your teeth find his earlobe, giggle a little when his long hair tickles your nose. “Who else will punish me when I’m bad?”

       He makes a sound much closer to a growl than a moan, lips finding the side of your neck so that he can scrape his teeth across your tendons.

       “Make it quick,” you say to him, just loud enough that it’ll carry right where you want it to. You laugh breathlessly when Hank’s hands find your thighs, lift you right up off the floor, and then you’re being spun around so that your ass is sitting on top of the counter and Hank’s hips are fitted neatly between your legs.

       “You really couldn’t wait?” he huffs a laugh, even as his hands go to work unbuttoning his pants.

       You pretend to think about it for a moment. “Nope,” you shake your head, lean up to nip at his bottom lip and smirk when it causes another low rumble of a growl to slip from his throat. “Need you now,” you say against his mouth, and then you kiss him again. As much as you’re  _ so _ looking forward to Gavin never being able to meet your eyes again, you’re also starting to feel more worked up than you first anticipated; there’s just something about Hank Anderson, about the rough sound of his voice and his calloused hands and the way he seems almost as desperate as you do in these moments. You suppose the years of tension have built you both up to this, to the frenzied, passionate sex wherever and whenever you might be--just last week he fucked you until you couldn't even move in the back of his car on his front lawn because neither of you could wait the few minutes it would have taken to get inside. 

       Your train of thought is quickly cut off when Hank’s hands push your skirt up around your waist and his voice rumbles in your ears, “Going commando at the office? Were you plannin’ this, you minx?” 

       You let your head roll back and your eyes slip shut, “So what if I was?” You lock your ankles behind his back in an attempt to get him closer, to get him right to where you want him; when you feel the head of his cock brush against you you nearly whimper. 

       “Fuck,” he groans, leaning in to bite at the side of your neck. “You got a condom?”

       “Hank,” you pant his name, “just fuck me already.” 

       “It would be my pleasure.” And then he’s suddenly inside you, stretching you out perfectly, his hands hard on your hips and waist. His thrusts start slow and long and you moan, dig your fingernails into the back of his neck and beg him to move faster,  _ harder _ . He fucks into you roughly, hips pushing with bruising force against yours, his lips finding yours again when your moans start to become too loud. He feels so good like this, clothed and sweaty, fucking you in the bathroom of your workplace in the presence of a coworker--it thrills you in a way you hadn't thought it would. You make sure to tell him exactly how you're feeling, how good he is to you, how amazing fucking him feels--you want Gavin to know that your relationship isn't lacking in _any_ department. He groans praise into your hair, into your mouth when he kisses you, tells you how perfect you feel around him, how he can't believe he waited as long as he did to fill you up.

       It's filthy, absolutely filthy, and you revel in it. 

       You don’t know how he does it, how he gets you so worked up so fast but  _ christ _ , you’re right there, teetering on the ledge as he pulls you closer to the edge of the counter, fucks you hard and deep and steady. You’re so hot, body slick with sweat, but Hank is somehow still burning against you, making the air feel cool. You gasp when his blunt nails dig into the skin of your waist, “Hank, I--I need--”

       “I know what you need,” he shushes you, brushes his hands lovingly across your cheeks, down your neck, across the swell of your heaving chest, down the plane of your stomach until he finds your clit and pinches it between his fingers. 

       You yelp, and then another perfect, deep thrust has you crying out as you come undone around him. 

       .

       .

       .

       Connor thinks it was irresponsible, and he doesn’t hesitate to tell you both about it. You can’t help but giggle when he lays into Hank thickly, telling him that ‘ _ as a lieutenant, you should have known better _ ’, and Hank responds with nothing but a shrug. 

       There might be a few more coworkers who know that there’s a little bit more to the office rumor than just rumor now but, hey, you’re not about to complain. 

       Not when Hank gives you that, self-satisfied smirk when Connor mentions how loud your voice was, how obvious it was what you were doing.

       Not when Gavin Reed can’t meet your eyes without blushing like a fool.

       Not when you look between him and Hank and wink and he rushes away from you like a terrified child.

       Not when you mention being sore offhandedly, standing near his desk, and you hear him choke on his coffee.

       No, you’re not about to complain at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on "Strange Love" by Halsey.
> 
> It's fuckin steamy in here, y'all.


End file.
